


A Small Matter Of Truth

by Talithax



Category: Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol (2011)
Genre: Angst, Denial, Doubt, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mild Language, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, POV First Person, Rape Recovery, Self Confidence Issues, Worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2018-01-18 12:21:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1428307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talithax/pseuds/Talithax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The mission having come to an unexpected, not to mention supremely... unwanted... conclusion, will Brandt be able to keep the actual specifics of just how bad it really was from Hunt...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Small Matter Of Truth

**Author's Note:**

> ~ Narrated by Will. Self-beta'd.
> 
> ~ Yet another fic that I wrote last year and have just been... sitting on. 
> 
> So... I've finished my long (as in 159,000 words - eeeep!) fic and, you know, right now all I'm feeling is... flat, like - in terms of the ultimate anti-climax - I've just lost it. It kept me going for nine weeks, and now there's just... nothing. Hence, I suppose, the random fic upload - as having to read over it one last time... sort of... put me, however momentarily, back in to the loop again.
> 
> Pointless, plaintive whine aside though...
> 
> ... Please... Enjoy!

==================  
A Small Matter of Truth  
by TalithaX  
==================

 

“Hey, Brandt...”

Coming to a reluctant stop, I bite back a sigh and, plastering the mask of professionalism I've been struggling to hide behind for the past however many hours firmly back in place, glance over my shoulder at Ethan.

Just...

What now?

I've brought him up to date, answered his questions, acted my Goddamn heart out, and all I want to do now is – disintegrate in private – have a very hot and very long shower and put the events of this evening behind me. It's not going to change anything as... what happened, happened, but...

It's a start.

A start that, right at this very moment, I feel in increasingly desperate need of.

“Mmm...?” I raise an inquiring eyebrow at Ethan and, all the time hoping like crazy that he doesn't ask – because I'm not, I'm really, really not and having to smile blandly and tell him that I'm fine would probably be the final straw and push me over the edge I'm teetering on once and for all – me if I'm okay, mentally will him to just get on with it.

Blissfully ignorant to both my inner turmoil and my all consuming desire to be safely ensconced in the bathroom, Ethan looks me in the eye and smiles. “I just wanted to compliment you on a job well done,” he states, picking up his laptop from the coffee-table and making himself comfortable on the sofa.

“I was just doing my job,” I mutter with a shrug as, turning my back on Ethan, I take another step towards the bathroom on legs that still feel as dithery now as they did when, dazed, light headed and numb all over, he finally released me.

My job.

That's all.

I was just doing what I'm paid to do, what I'm meant to be good at.

I was just doing it incompetently, that's all.

“I only dish out praise when I feel that it's due,” Ethan replies in the sort of matter-of-fact tone that tells me he's disappointed in my lack of, if not gratitude, then at the very least acknowledgement of his verbal pat on the back. “Seriously, Brandt, just take it at face value and know that you did a good job.”

Good job?

Praise?

Little does Ethan know that, despite not being worthy of any of it, I've had more praise in the space of this one evening than I've had over the past few years.

… “Good boy.” “God, you're so hot. So fucking hot.” “And that ass... I think I may well have died and gone to heaven.” “What I wouldn't give to keep you like this forever.” “Tight. Hot. A born cock sucker. Talk about the perfect specimen.”

Very nearly giving the game away by whimpering, I don't even try to come up with a response for Ethan and simply walk into the bathroom. Both shutting and, despite knowing Ethan would never take it upon himself walk in on me, locking the door, I turn the light on and, choking back a groan, blink in the sudden brightness. The lighting in motel bathrooms being the same – too bright, too white and far, far too unforgiving – the world over, I waste a few seconds on idly wishing for a dimmer switch to dull it down a little before, with fingers that don't seem to fully want to do as they're told, starting to fumble over removing my clothes. 

All the time making a very deliberate effort to keep my back to the mirror because just about the last thing I currently want is to catch sight of my wretched reflection, I throw my suit jacket down on to the floor, toe off my shoes and, with a deep, shaky breath, drop my trousers. Stepping out of them, I bend over and quickly pull off my socks before, naked from the waist down as the bastard, for sick and perverse reasons known only to himself, kept my boxers as some sort of twisted souvenir, grabbing the bottom of my shirt and simply ripping it open. Buttons fly everywhere as nausea rises in my throat and the sense of revulsion that's been with me ever since I woke, cuffed, naked, and spread eagled on his bed reaches an almost unbearable level.

Shrugging off the remnants of what until tonight had been one of my favourite shirts and which, regardless of the fact that I've now ruined it, I never want to lay eyes on again, I ball it up and throw it down to join the rest of my clothing on the floor. Naked, again, and with his... artwork (or perhaps that should be... statement) once again visible on my stomach, I only just make it to the toilet in time and, dropping to my knees, violently throw up.

SLUT.

I know...

… It's only part of the... scene, yet another 'accepted' way for the so-called master to add to the demeaning of the sub and, as it's only written with a black marker, that it'll come off, but...

It doesn't help.

Applying logic, acceptance and even... justification... to everything that's happened, it...

It doesn't help at all.

The physical response was just that – physical. It didn't mean that I was in to it or that I wanted it.

He drugged me. Everything that happened, I couldn't have stopped. 

Having played a role and, in a way, having played Henderson himself for close to week, he would have assumed I was as... up for it... as he was. I'd gone along with his offensive commentary and innuendo, I'd regaled him with my own... creative... tales of sexual prowess and willingness to occasionally submit, and because – we simply do what we have to do – having to act as a pervert in our line of work is no different than feigning interest in obtaining prototype weapons or going along with plotting to take down a government, he'd brought it. We'd talked the... kinky... talk and...

What happened shouldn't have come as a surprise.

I'd led him on.

He viewed me as a kindred spirit.

I...

I missed the signs. Too caught up first in concentrating on my goal of getting the information out of him and then in the – admittedly brief – sense of satisfaction of not only knowing that I'd succeeded but that he'd also fallen hook, line and sinker for my carefully played act, I missed... 

It. 

Whatever exactly... it... was, be it a subtle change in his demeanour or a gleam of intent in his eye, I missed it. 

SLUT.

He got it wrong. If he'd wanted a word to truly define me he should have gone with...

… USELESS.

That, or... FAILURE.

God knows either would have been far more apt. 

Although...

Seeing that if he had actually made the effort to ask I would, albeit both in the name of seeing my act through to the bitter end and not wanting to do anything to run the risk of of causing suspicion, have... gone along with it anyway, maybe he was actually on to something after all. I wouldn't have been happy about it and, who knows, maybe having an idea of what was coming would have made the entire experience even worse somehow, but...

Yes.

I, with no small degree of reluctance and revulsion on my part, would have... willingly... gone along with it. It's not, after all, as though I would have had any other choice. To have come across as all indignant, disinterested, or to have even feigned a... previous engagement that I suddenly had to leave him for, just... wouldn't have cut it. Despite having finally obtained what we'd been needing from him, I couldn't have just turned my back and walked away because, simply put, it wouldn't have been in character and, having made a very lucrative career in always bringing his A game to the table, Henderson would have immediately become suspicious. Call it simple paranoia or a sixth sense highly tuned for both survival and constantly staying one step ahead of authorities and competitors alike on Henderson's part, but suddenly giving him any reason to doubt I was the person I'd so very industriously succeeded in convincing him I was would have thrown all our work in to disarray, and...

The stakes, as always given what we do, being too high, there was just no way that it could have been allowed to happen.

So. Again, yes. If he'd laid his cards on the table and came out and asked me if I wanted to celebrate what he thought was the beginning of a new business venture by... fooling around... I wouldn't, despite my misgivings, have hesitated in giving my... enthusiastic... consent.

Yes. By all means let me reiterate my subservience to your superior status by taking all my clothes off and letting you do whatever you want to me.

I wouldn't have liked it and, okay, maybe I'd still be here on my knees in front of a toilet if I'd been an... arguably... willing participant, but I would have gone through with it.

Only...

He didn't ask.

He just... took.

And, inadvertently, I let him.

I let him because I failed to see it coming. I knew he was a perverted bastard and never for a second assumed that his tales weren't actually based in fact, but...

How did I miss it?

I believed him, he'd openly stated that he was horny as hell and looking for a... good toy to fuck with to celebrate our agreement and that, as he knew I was 'on the same wavelength' he thought he could have some fun with me, but...

Again. How did I miss it?

I honestly thought that he'd just wait until I'd finished my drink and left him to it for the night.

I never, not once, thought that I'd be his chosen... toy.

He...

Drugged my drink and then, while I was out cold, stripped me naked and cuffed me to the bed before, quite literally, doing whatever the fuck he liked to me.

And I never saw it coming.

Agent Extraordinaire, that's me.

Slowly coming to the conclusion that there's finally nothing left in my stomach to throw up and that it's starting to get a little cold down here on the tiles, I drag myself into a vaguely upright position, flush the toilet and, on legs that still don't feel as though they're firmly attached to the rest of me, walk over to the shower. Reaching into the cubicle to turn the taps on, I catch sight of the torn flesh encircling my wrists from the too tight metal cuffs and, although I honestly wouldn't even have thought it still possible, this causes nausea to once again rise in my throat.

Bloody, bruised, and sore in places that have no right to be sore.

To each their own and all that, and, seriously, I've never been one to judge another's – legal – sexual preferences, but...

Let's just say I can think of better ways to reach orgasm and leave it at that.

Forcefully choking back the urge to put my already tender stomach muscles under any additional strain by dry heaving, I switch the water on to both full heat and full pressure before, all the time keeping my gaze averted from the mirror, walking over to the vanity unit and snatching up my toothbrush. I then apply an overly generous amount of toothpaste to the brush and carry it back over to the shower. Stepping into the cubicle and under the almost scolding flow of water, I pull the glass door shut behind me and, giving in to my sudden desire to rid myself of the memory of his taste, shove the toothbrush in to my mouth and begin to vigorously scrub my teeth.

I would have said yes.

Preferring, tonight notwithstanding, my sexual partners to be male, it's not as though I've never been intimately acquainted with another man's cock before. Hell, to put it perfectly bluntly, if not downright crudely, as a general rule I'm quite a fan of cock. In fact I'm, and again with being blunt about things here, generally quite a happy little cocksucker. 

He...

He didn't have to do what he did.

I would have sucked him off. I would have even let him fuck me.

He didn't have to strap me down and, with the added fucking bonus of pain, just... take.

Bound. Helpless. Deprived of all – dignity – control.

Trapped.

Hard.

At his mercy.

Oh God...

Why didn't I see it coming? How did I miss that he'd spiked my drink?

Just...

What's wrong with me?

Why...

… Why do I feel as though I'm in danger of losing it?

It's over. 

Having all the information we needed from him to bring the cartel down once and for all, I never have to see him again. I did what I had to do, played my part, and... It's over.

So...

Why am I feeling this way?

Numb. Shattered. Repulsed. 

Cheap.

Stupid.

Useless. A failure.

Slut.

Too caught up in my mass of going nowhere thoughts to be concentrating on what I'm doing, I very nearly gag on the toothbrush and, startled by this, abruptly pull it out of my mouth. Translating the sight of blood on the bristles to mean that I've scrubbed my gums raw without even being aware of it, I wearily put this down to just being the cherry on the top of my Goddamn evening and, groaning, throw the brush onto the floor before grabbing both the shower gel and Jane's loofah and throwing myself into the task of doing what little I can to make myself feel clean. It taking both effort and dedication to get the word off my stomach, by the time I'm finished the skin there is as red and as tender as the torn flesh around my wrists and ankles and, instead of feeling better, I'm feeling even worse than I did earlier.

I hurt...

… all over.

Inside and out. I don't think there's a part of my body that he didn't turn his very thorough attention to and I feel as though I've either ran back to back marathons or been hit by a bus.

And...

… Being nothing if not the trained to perfection, consummate actor – proving, I suppose, that I'm not entirely useless and can at least do something right – I even...

Thanked him.

When it was over and he was showing what a... kind and considerate lover he really was by massaging life back into my stiff muscles while complimenting me on both my hotness and ability to... 'take it', I actually thanked him for taking the time to give me a... taster... of his considerable skills. I even went so far as to agree with him that, why, yes, it was indeed a pity that the timing of our business arrangement wasn't going to allow time for a visit to his home base of Miami and his – no doubt very well equipped – 'play room'.

Again, Agent Extraordinaire, that's me all over.

Missed the signs, would have opened my mouth or bent over anyway should he have bothered to waste the few precious seconds it would have taken to ask, and then, because keeping the charade going at all costs was all that I had left to me, I... thanked him... for...

Let's just say... 'taking me somewhere I'd never really wanted to go'... and, because the other – far more realistic and truthful – take on it isn't something I want to so much as contemplate, leave it at that.

It happened. It's over. And it's history.

I just have to... put it all behind me and move on. I can't undo it or forever erase it from my memory and nor, regardless of the effort I'm nonetheless currently putting into it, can I just wash – or, as it happens, scrub – it all away and be done with it. God knows I'd like to. In fact, it's just about taking all of my willpower as it is not to slump down onto the floor of the shower and hug my knees to my chest until the water runs cold. I can, in my own, possibly somewhat blinkered way, justify it and... make my peace with it... all I like but, it all just being too – real – fresh, what I can't do is simply shut myself off from it. Parts of my body ache that... just shouldn't, not as a result of something that's ultimately meant to be pleasurable. Abrasions ring both my wrists and ankles, and I think it's safe to say I'm never going to be able to look at the humble clothes peg in the same light ever again. As for some of the other... toys... he – apparently can't leave home without – just happened to have in his suitcase, I...

I just don't – didn't – want to go there.

Still... What's done is done and all that. And, there being nothing quite like scrabbling around for a silver lining in an otherwise dim, dark pit, I now know – not that I'd ever really thought about it with either any specific interest or curiosity before but, hey, whatever – that the world of BDSM is most definitely not for me. Maybe it's a control thing. Failing that, maybe the IMF trainers just did such a good job all those years ago that I'll forever associate blindfolds and finding myself strapped down with both being held captive and in danger. Hell, maybe I'm just boring and don't actually want to mix pain with pleasure. Whatever the reasons are though, they're mine and, assuming I have any say in the matter, I don't ever want to find myself in a similar situation ever again.

But...

Again. It happened and I just have to deal with it.

Just as I have to get – a fucking grip – moving and make my way out of the bathroom and into my room before Ethan realises I'm having the longest shower in history and decides to either pass comment or question me on it. He probably, given that his hearing is the best of anyone I've ever met, heard the sounds of me throwing up as it is and I can only hope he chooses to err on the side of general politeness and doesn't say anything about it when he sees me. I don't want to have to lie to Ethan, as he's not only my team leader but also someone I happen to both like and look up to, but seeing as I'd rather chew my own arm off than admit the truth to him, I will if I have to. What's more, seeing as acting is one of the rare things I actually seem good at, I'd sell it, the bullshit lie that 'it must have been something I ate' and that, really, 'I'm fine', too.

Not wanting to push my luck though, I just want to make it to my room without Ethan paying me any attention and it's with that goal in mind that I turn off the water and step out of the shower. Reaching for a towel from the rack by the door, I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror and, seriously, just mentally wave the white flag of defeat. Thanks both to the water being far too hot and my overly vigorous use of loofah, I'm now pretty much a not particularly delicate shade of pink all over and my collection of cuts, welts and bruises – the ones my extremely limited understanding of the scene tell me that I shouldn't even have and which only confirm beyond all doubt that, yes, Henderson really is a sadistic bastard – stand out even more than they did before I got into the shower.

And...

It really not being my fucking night, in my haste to reach the brief sanctuary of the bathroom I didn't take the time to first detour via my bedroom in order to retrieve something to put on after my shower, which means...

I have to either put my suit back on and really give Ethan something to raise his eyebrow at, or just – as casually as I can manage – stroll past him clad only in a towel wrapped tightly around my waist and hope like crazy he's so engrossed in whatever it is he's doing that he doesn't bother to take any notice of me because, if he does, there's simply no way he'll be able to resist the compulsion to say something. And, well, as 'what the fuck?' springs all too readily too mind, it goes without saying that doing anything to accidentally catch his attention is something I pretty much want to avoid at all costs.

So...

Thinking as fast as my addled mind can currently cope with, I roughly dry myself before both tying the towel around my waist and grabbing a second one to drape, shawl-like, around my shoulders. While not exactly the most normal, especially as I've never had any qualms about strolling around clad only in a towel before, of looks, I decide – as the less skin that's on show the better – that it'll just have to do and, after picking up my clothes and shoes and clutching them tightly to my chest, open the door and walk out of the bathroom. Ethan, as I just about would have felt safe betting my life on, immediately looks up from his laptop at the sound of my – obviously not quiet enough – return and flashes me an easy smile of greeting.

“Good shower?” he queries as, his smile slipping slightly, he sits up a little straighter on the sofa and gives me the sort of curious, concerned look that I really hadn't been wanting to come under. “Brandt? Are you...”

“While I may have to confess to having had the water a little too hot,” I interrupt, flashing him a dismissive smile of my own as, with a shrug, I continue towards my room, “I'm fine. What I also am, however, is tired, so... Good night, Ethan. I'll see you in the morning.”

“Uh... Good night, then.”

Knowing full well by the tone of his voice that he's struggling to see much truth in my crappy tale of being too stupid to realise that I was cooking myself in the shower and that he'll only try again in the hope of getting either the truth or a more sensible response out of me if I don't get a move on, I hurry over to my room and, with a sigh of relief, disappear into it. Completely and utterly lacking the desire to do anything more than I absolutely have to in order to put this night behind me, I close the drapes before dropping first my pile of clothes and then the towels on to the floor and quickly pulling on both my pyjama pants and a clean t-shirt. I then fold back the bedding, turn the overhead light off and crawl into bed. Although I usually sleep on my back, tonight the position reminds me too much of what I was put through on Henderson's bed and, with yet another sigh, I settle myself on my side and, closing my eyes, half pull the bedding up over my head.

Just...

What made me think I was up to – or, for that matter, worthy of – returning to field work when, clearly, I'm not.

I'm just not.

~*~*~*~

The sound of someone settling themselves next to me putting paid to my hope of not having any company for the flight back to D.C., I half turn to check them out and, today being no more my day than yesterday was, bite back a groan when I see who my fellow passenger is.

Ethan.

Ethan, who last heard, was staying behind in Los Angeles to personally hand Henderson over to the CIA before catching a later flight, and who I wasn't supposed to see until tomorrow's debriefing at HQ.

Fuck.

I like Ethan, I really do. I also enjoy his company and maybe, just maybe, a small – delusional – part of me might have on a number of occasions idly wondered what it would be like to be... close... to him. He's a great agent, generally a pleasure to be around, and I admire him as much as I envy him. Confident, fearless, incredibly bright – especially in terms of thinking both on his feet and 'outside the box' – and, as far as I've been able to deduce anyway, quite unflappable. If anything ever brings him down or makes him doubt himself, he does a damn good job of hiding it and, lacking this finely honed skill of slapping on a bland smile and soldiering on myself, I can't help but wish that I knew how he was always able to manage it.

My affection for, and, okay, slight jealousy of Ethan aside though, I really wish that he'd stuck to our original plan and wasn't now sitting next to me with an unmistakeable expression of concern on his face as he looks at me.

“Don't look so pleased to see me,” Ethan comments just a touch drily as he jams his iPad in the seat pocket and pulls his seatbelt on.

“I...” Not having it in me to brush the moment over with a bright, fake smile, I shrug instead and lean my head back against the seat. “I thought you were going to hang around and do the hand over.”

“As I decided that I wanted to fly back with the rest of you, I made the CIA come earlier,” Ethan replies as, frowning, he looks me over with a searing intensity. “Actually... Will...” Pausing, he softens his expression with a fleeting smile that doesn't reach his eyes and, to my decided discomfort, places his hand lightly on my knee. “That's what Benji and Jane call you, isn't it?” he continues, the frown once again settling in place as I jerk my knee out from under his hand and, wanting to put as much distance between us as I can possibly manage giving the 'up close and personal' seating arrangements, lean my shoulder against the window.

“Huh?” Not liking... that he's here at all, his proximity, and the small fact of life that I'm starting to feel as though I'm in danger of succumbing to a panic attack, I stare at Ethan blankly and give a small shake of my head.

“Will,” he repeats patiently. “I want to get out of the habit of calling you by your surname and want to make sure that you're okay with being called Will. I've heard the others calling you that, but if you'd prefer...”

“Will's fine,” I interrupt, touched, for some reason, by Ethan's sudden wish to use my name. While it's not something I ever would have raised with him, I hadn't particularly liked how he'd always referred to me by my surname and if I wasn't so currently caught up in feeling sorry for myself I'd actually be pleased that he's taken it upon himself to try to change. “But... Uh... Whatever. If you want to call me Brandt then I'm okay with that too.”

“Nah... I think I'll give 'Will' a go for a while,” Ethan responds as, sighing, he looks me in the eye and, being nothing if not a quick learner, wafts his hand over my knee as opposed to to touching it. “Actually...” Trailing off, he shrugs and, with another frown, adds, “Will... Don't take this the wrong way or anything, but... are you okay?”

“Why wouldn't I be?” I mutter, mirroring his frown as I force myself to meet his gaze. “The mission's over, we're all still in one piece and on our way home, so... Trust me, I'm fine.”

As far as Ethan's concerned anyway, why wouldn't I be fine? Or... Does he know something that I don't? Either way, I don't like his sudden, random, interest in my... well being... and hope it's not a topic he decides to fixate on throughout the entire flight.

I'm fine. Of course I'm fucking fine. Okay. So I have a headache that would stop a horde of stampeding elephants dead in their tracks and didn't actually get much sleep last night, but... So what? The mission's over, I never have to see Henderson again and, until I had to pack everything up and leave the hotel suite in order to make it to the airport in time to catch the flight, I've managed to have a reasonably productive day both writing up my report and going over all the intel we've collected while in LA. While I wouldn't go so far as to say it's been a particularly good day, I've still managed to do everything that I've needed to without wasting too much time dwelling on what happened last night, and...

I'm functioning. Possibly only at fifty percent of my normal capacity because, yes, I'm still sore and still feel as though I'm second guessing myself at every turn, but I'm doing what I can to push ahead and, in my own way, I like to think that I'm succeeding.

Ethan's obvious doubt at my hard fought for façade of keeping it together, however, well... That's just another one of those things I could well and truly live without.

“Speaking of the mission,” Ethan murmurs with another sigh as, dropping his gaze, he looks directly at the back of the seat in front of him. “Given that you were... uh... in deep with Henderson for close to a full week, is there... uh... anything you feel as though you might like to talk about or, I don't know, go over in any more detail?”

“No. There isn't,” I retort flatly, not liking where Ethan could possibly be going with this line of questioning and wanting to stomp it out before he tries to take it any further. I could be wrong, and God knows I hope like hell that I am, but I could swear he knows something that I don't and it goes without saying that I don't like it. I don't, seeing I know that I left him with my cover – as opposed to my dignity – intact, think he could have picked up anything from Henderson when he was stuck in his company while waiting for the CIA to take the bastard off his hands, but... Something is definitely going on here and, as it's simply adding to my sense of discomfort, I don't like it. “Look, Ethan, while you might struggle to accept this, I do actually know what it is I'm doing and... everything I did during the mission was because I knew that I had to. Henderson was an asshole, yeah, but he had to be brought down and I just played the part I had to in order to achieve this.”

“As I already know you to be an exceptional agent, I don't struggle to accept it at all and don't want you to ever doubt yourself where my... confidence in you is concerned,” Ethan replies, turning his head to flash me a soft smile which, yet again, doesn't even come close to reaching his tired eyes. “Just... Listen to me, Will. I want you to know that... Uh... I'm here for you. As your team leader or even, and to be perfectly honest with you here I think this is even more important, just as your friend. If there's anything you ever want to say to me or... feel as though you need help with, I want you to know that you're not to hesitate in bringing it to my attention. You... You're part of a team now, a team that you're... very much... a part of of, and you're not alone.”

Not alone? He's there for me should I ever want to talk?

About... what?

And why now?

Maybe I really am just dumb, but I don't get it. Like missing the signs Henderson must have been giving off last night, I can't get my head around what Ethan's getting at here and just want it over.

“As you're sitting there next to me and droning on when, thanks to a headache, all I want to do is hopefully doze off for a while, it's pretty damn clear to me that I'm not alone,” I mutter, giving, solely because I know that I have to if I'm going to have any hope of getting him to back off, Ethan a sullen look. “The mission's over, I did what I had to do, I'm not, in case this is what you're thinking, planning to have another melt down and leave the team, and... Seriously, Ethan, I just don't know what it is you want me to say. I'm tired, I have a headache, and...”

“All I seem to be doing is trying to put you on the spot,” Ethan finishes quietly as he reaches into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulls out a small plastic container of paracetamol. Twisting the lid off, he tips two of the white pills into the palm of his hand and holds them towards me. “Here. If you don't want to dry swallow them I'll call for a flight attendant to...”

“Thanks,” I murmur, cutting him off as I take the pills out of his hand and pop them into my mouth. Swallowing them, I give Ethan a, in this case genuine, smile of thanks and place my small cushion behind my head. “Hopefully they're of the fast acting variety.”

“And hopefully you'll feel better when you wake up,” Ethan replies, returning the pills to his pocket before handing me his cushion. “Here. You may as well have this one too.”

Taking the cushion from him with a nod of thanks, I place it against the window and rest the side of my head on it. Closing my eyes, I feel a blanket being both draped and very carefully tucked around me and suddenly realise with no small amount of surprise that Ethan's right.

I'm not alone.

I might feel that way, and might even some times feel as though it would be better for all concerned if I was, but I'm not.

~*~*~*~

The sound of the doorbell both waking and startling me from my deep, coma-like and very much sleeping pill assisted slumber, I sit up and, momentarily disorientated, wearily rub my hands over my face.

Where am I? How did I get here? Am I safe?

While it's a somewhat sad aspect of the career I've chosen, this is pretty much the routine I go through every time I wake up and it's now, as it has been ever since I first became a field agent, just second nature to me. It's so entrenched, in fact, that not even a year spent predominantly at home while I was working as an analyst out of HQ was able to cure me of it. It really is just instinct, a constant, life-or-death need to always be aware of my surroundings and any possible threat factors that could be lurking in the shadows.

It's also why, when I came to and found myself blindfolded and cuffed to Henderson's bed, my immediate, panicked thought was that he'd seen through my cover and his plan was to torture me until I told him everything. I mean, it was the... logical... conclusion, right? Everything had been going fine, I'd been confident that my cover was firmly in place and that he had no cause to doubt I was anything other than what I said I was, so... How I was supposed to know it was his way of congratulating me on our new business arrangement? I was unable to move, unable to see, and, worst of all, I was naked. Then, when without having said a single word, he started to apply the... clamps and the pegs and... just whatever it was between my legs, I...

Panicked.

Of course I did.

I was helpless, being sexually assaulted by someone I could only assume was Henderson, and... although I braced myself for the questioning and the threats, they...

They never came.

It wasn't the truth he wanted, it was my body.

And it was meant as a... reward.

A bonus or 'treat', if you like, for having come into his life and presented him with a business opportunity that was just too good to ignore.

I thought I was going to be tortured, if not killed, and all he wanted was an orgasm. A... mutual... orgasm, given that I'm sure that he never saw anything wrong with the scenario as it was being played out at all, at that.

The sound of the doorbell once again ringing out loudly through the house rousing me from my all too realistic memories and, thankfully, grounding me back in the here and now, I stand up and, completely on autopilot, head towards the door. Glancing at my grandfather's antique mantle clock as I walk out of the living room, I note with surprise that it's already past eleven in the morning and that, again, thanks solely to the pills I succumbed to when it became clear I wasn't going to nod off any other way, I managed to sleep for just over ten hours. Instead of feeling refreshed though I still feel as though I've been hit by a bus and, if that wasn't enough, I also – in the cold, light of day – can't help but feel ashamed by the fact I slept on the sofa because the mere sight of my wooden bed frame made me immediately think how easy it would be to attach restraints to it and, pathetically, that was just that and I couldn't bring myself to sleep there. It's the same bed I've had for years, and I knew I was alone in the – extremely well secured – house, but...

I couldn't do it.

I couldn't lie in the bed and close my eyes because it was just too easy to imagine waking spread eagled to it, and...

The doorbell ringing again telling me in no uncertain terms that I need to get a fucking grip and just concentrate on what it is I'm doing as opposed to either dwelling on the past or worrying about how pathetic I'm becoming, I straighten my shoulders and, simply because logic tells me it's the expected thing to do,walk up to the door and slide back the lock. A quick glance down at my crumpled outfit of navy blue pyjama pants and a long sleeved grey t-shirt confirming that I'm as decent looking as I'm likely to get at the moment, I plaster on what I hope looks like a neutral expression and, with no expectations whatsoever as to who it is I'm going to find on the other side, wrench the door open.

“Can I help...” The rest of my pointlessly polite query dying on my lips as I see who my unwanted guest is, I choke back a scowl and fold my arms across my chest.

Ethan Hunt.

Of course it fucking is. Not content with going out of his way to be nice to me during the flight last night, he's now here to, I suspect, check up on me even though we're all due to meet at HQ for the debriefing at two. I appreciate his concern, and under normal circumstances I'd even be happy to see him, but...

Not now.

I'm neither in the mood for, nor fit for company, and... just call me psychic, but I know I'm not going to like whatever it is he's got to say to me. And he has something to say too. I can see it in his vaguely worried looking expression and the way he's not quite able to look me in the eye. I thought it before I dozed off on the flight and now, even before he's opened his mouth, I know that he knows something that I don't want to hear.

“Well, don't you look like shit,” Ethan comments blandly as, no doubt having had enough of standing on my doormat, he takes a step towards the door and gives me the sort of look that tells me he's coming inside whether I actually like it or not.

“Feel like it too, if you must know,” I retort, shifting away from the door and, because I know I have no choice in the matter and that to argue the point would only momentarily delay the inevitable, gesturing Ethan inside. “What are you doing here anyway?” I continue querulously as he walks through the door and begins to head towards the kitchen. “Seeing as we were going to see each other in a little less than three hours time, you could have just picked up the phone, you know...”

“As the geeks in the tech department need Benji for something, the debriefing has been put off until tomorrow,” Ethan replies, pausing in the doorway to the kitchen and glancing over his shoulder at me as I pull the front door shut. “If that had been all I wanted to say I would called, but...” Trailing off, he shrugs and waits for me to reluctantly join him before walking into the kitchen and taking a seat at the table. “I'm sorry, Will. I don't want to be having to do this, but I... I feel as though I have to and I hope you can appreciate that I'm doing it not only as your team leader, but also as a friend and someone who cares about you.”

Suddenly wishing that the pills had done an even better job and that I'd managed to sleep through the doorbell, I eschew doing the good host thing of offering Ethan a coffee in favour of just getting whatever it is that's coming over and done with and, with a sigh, sit down at the opposite end of the table. “Do I even want to ask?” I murmur, slumping back in my chair and gazing down at the tabletop. 

“Probably not,” Ethan responds as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out an iPhone in a familiar looking snakeskin case. Placing it on the table, he taps his finger against it and looks over at me. “Recognise it?”

As, sadly, I do recognise it, I give a small shrug and nod. “It's Henderson's.”

“I took it from him before handing him over to the CIA,” Ethan states, dropping his gaze to the phone for what feels like an incredibly long moment before picking it up and turning it on. “Look, Will, there's no easy way to do this, and, believe me when I say there's about a thousand and one things I'd rather be doing with my time right now,” he murmurs, bringing something up on the screen as, with a sigh, he returns the phone to the table and pushes it towards me. “Again, I'm sorry to have to do this to you, but I need to know... uh... the background... to what's going on here...”

Not liking Ethan's obvious unease and once again wishing that I'd never heard the doorbell and was still blissfully asleep on the sofa, I glance down at the phone screen, numbly take in the image I'm confronted with, and...

That's it.

Game over.

I... It's official. I have nowhere left to hide and may as well just accept that which I should have accepted after Croatia and hand in my resignation right here and now. God knows it's not as though there wouldn't be any reason for Ethan to be anything other than happy to take it.

SLUT.

USELESS.

Actually, make that... USELESS SLUT.

Proving that I really am incredibly stupid, I should have known Henderson would have taken a fucking photo. I mean, the perverted bastard had even actually shown me a few pictures of... past conquests... on his phone, so...

Stupid.

I'm just stupid.

Stupid, and... laid out in all my glory on the – thankfully – small screen of Henderson's iPhone.

Just...

Look. 

There's the cuffs, clamps, pegs and, my favourite of all, Henderson's attempt at artwork scrawled on my stomach. And, well I never, whatever the fuck it was he shoved in me was actually purple. Just... There you go. You do honestly learn a new thing every day. It's a kind of an odd colour, given how large it was and what it's obvious purpose was, but, whatever. It's not as though I'd ever seen it until now and, let's face it, who gives a damn what colour it is anyway.

And...

Look.

I'm obviously in to what I'm being put through because, having timed his picture taking just right, I'm hard.

My traitorous cock is standing proudly erect and I look as though I'm enjoying it.

And...

Ethan's had this marvellous, artistic piece of photography since yesterday. He had it on the plane, he's had it to dwell on all of last night, and...

Now he's here. Waiting for me to say something.

“What do you want to know?” I mutter at last as, my half assed attempt to sound indifferent fails dismally and I sound, even to my own ears, just defensive instead. “Clearly you've already worked out who the... model... is, so I don't need to confirm that for you.”

Retrieving the phone, Ethan switches it off without looking down at the screen and sighs. “Just... tell me that it was what you wanted and... we'll never speak of it again.”

Remaining on the defensive being as good an option as any when you're – oh, the irony – exposed and have nowhere else to go, I lean forward and sneer. “A picture telling a thousand words,” I drawl, “surely you could see for yourself that part of me certainly wanted it.”

“So...” His expression clearly telling me that he's not buying my bullshit act of bravado, Ethan sighs again and, although I'm not having any of it and respond by gazing down at the table, tries to meet my eyes. “This... This is what you're in to, huh?”

“Why the interest?” I murmur, shrugging. “Don't tell me you're interested in trying me out for yourself?”

“Not like this, I'm not,” Ethan whispers as, to my decided annoyance, he gets up and shifts into the chair closest to me. “Will...”

Needing to get away from Ethan before he decides to further try his luck by reaching out and touching me, I jump to my feet and go to stand by the bench. “What? What do you want me to say, huh?” I demand, folding my arms across my chest and, feeling more cornered and in danger of losing it by the second, glaring at Ethan as he swivels in his seat to face me. “Yes, that's me in the photo and, yes, I'm hard, which clearly fucking proves I'm enjoying my little taster of... bondage hell, so... Come on. What is it that you so desperately want to know?”

“Bondage hell,” Ethan echoes with a grimace as, obviously wanting to keep a careful eye on me, he stands up and turns his chair to better face me before sitting back down on it and running his fingers through his hair. “All I want to know is the truth. If... bondage... is what floats your boat then, hey, it's got nothing to do with me and, at the risk of repeating myself, we never have to speak of any of this again. If, however, Henderson... uh... took advantage of you, then...”

“Took advantage of me?” I mutter, cutting Ethan off and giving him a disbelieving look. “Just... What does it matter, anyway? The mission's over. We got Henderson, and... it's history, a... non-event that's not even worthy of wasting any more time. I... I just did what I had to and that's all there is to it.”

“So...” Sighing, Ethan leans back in his seat and, despite having to know that it's making me uncomfortable, continues to stare at me fixedly. “I take it, then, that you were fine with all of it and the blood stained toothbrush I found in the shower back at the hotel that night was just... a coincidence?”

“I...” Damn. He's got me and, going on his pained expression, he knows it. “Maybe I just have sensitive gums and was a little too over-enthusiastic cleaning my teeth,” I reply coolly even though, deep down, I know that I'm not only wasting my breath but that I'm also fighting what's only ever going to be a losing battle. While I'm stubborn and don't want to be having this conversation, Ethan, I know, is not only incredibly stubborn but also incredibly determined as well and that, regardless of all the attitude I might try to hit him with, he's not going to let up. That, and at the end of the day and whether I like it or not, he's my team leader and someone that, professionally at least, I have to answer to.

I just wish that I knew why he was bothering, though. Like I said, it's history, and while I certainly could have lived without him ever laying eyes on the photo, it's really got very little to do with him. The mission was completed successfully, the only person to be effected by any of it is me and, albeit slightly worse for wear, I'm still here. It's not like it should make any impact, adverse or otherwise, on Ethan's life at all. 

“Frequently clean your teeth in the shower, do you?” Ethan queries mildly. “To each their own and all that, but...”

“What can I say other than I'm a firm believer in effective time-management and streamlining,” I retort as, unfolding my arms and letting them hang limply by my sides, I give an expansive shrug.

“Effective time-management, huh?” Ethan echoes with both a dry laugh and a quick roll of his eyes. “If that's the case, then, why are you being so obtuse and avoiding the question at hand? I'm not here to have a go at you, Will, or even to put you on the spot, but you've got to stop deflecting the matter and need to be honest with me.”

Like hell, I do.

“Maybe you're just not being very clear with your line of questioning,” I murmur with yet another shrug. “Given that I've already told you what I think you need to know about the night, if there's something you specifically want to know then perhaps you'd better come out and just ask it.”

“Fine.” Standing up, Ethan walks over and positions himself directly in front of me. “Did you want it?

“Want... what?” Although it's just about the last thing I feel like doing, I draw myself up to my full height and look Ethan in the eye. “Sorry, but, again, you're going to have to make yourself clearer.”

“Fine,” Ethan repeats as, narrowing his eyes, he suddenly leans forward and effectively traps me in place by sliding his arms either side of me and resting his palms flat on the bench behind my back. “Hopefully this will be clear enough for you,” he murmurs, removing his left hand from the bench and trailing his finger down the middle of my chest. “Did you want that slimy bastard, Henderson, to tie you up and fuck you?”

“I...” My breath catching in my throat as a result of everything from Ethan's proximity, to the goosebumps breaking out across my skin as a result of his vaguely invasive touch, and all the way to the – overdue – bluntness of his question, I push him back and move over to stand by the refrigerator. “What's it to you, anyway?” I demand, once again folding my arms across my chest and, all the time willing my heartbeat to get back under control, glowering at him. “I just did what I had to do!”

“Just as I'm doing what, as team leader and your friend, I have to do,” Ethan replies reasonably enough as, accepting that I'm not in a touchy-feely sort of mood, he remains standing – a safe distance away – by the bench. “Look. I don't want to be having this conversation any more than you do but, as you're effectively my responsibility, I need, operationally, to know what exactly went on that night.”

“Don't tell me you're wanting details now,” I mutter, leaning against the side of the refrigerator and giving Ethan a weary, resigned look.

“It's not details I want,” Ethan responds, looking, if I'm not mistaken, just that little bit horrified by the fact I'd even dare suggest such a thing, “and, what's more, I'd never expect you to give them to me. I know you think I'm interfering or... imposing on your privacy but, seriously, Will, all I want from you is the truth and, the sooner you give it to me the quicker we can both get on with our lives and pretending this conversation never happened.”

“Fine.” It's not fine. Of course it's not. Thinking about the damn night is more than bad enough without having to give voice to it, but... What other choice do I really have? Ethan won't let up, I don't have the energy to continue this charade of indifference and attitude much longer, and... Whatever. Things already suck and I can't really see how Ethan knowing the truth is actually going to make them any worse. “What exactly do you want to know?” I murmur as, for no other reason than it gives me something all too briefly to do, I open the fridge and grab a bottle of water. “Just... You win. Ask away and I'll answer.”

Sighing, Ethan picks the chair up and turns it around to face me before sitting down in it and looking at me expectantly. “Did you want it?”

“No.” Shaking my head, I twist the lid off the bottle and take a sip of water. “To put it your way, no, I didn't want that slimy bastard to tie me down and fuck me. In fact, I didn't even want him to so much as touch me but, there you go. It doesn't matter. In order to keep my cover and complete the mission I would have gone through with it even if he'd asked.”

“Even if he'd...” Falling silent, Ethan rubs his hands over his face and, tilting his head back, gazes up at the ceiling. “Fuck!” he exclaims, the shock, if not... anguish... he's feeling at this unexpected snippet of information coming through loud and clear in his voice. “He didn't ask, did he?”

“I...” Fuck. I walked straight into that one by not concentrating, didn't I? “It doesn't matter,” I repeat, lowering my head and looking down at the bottle as I roll it between my palms. “And the reason it doesn't matter is because it doesn't change anything. If he'd asked I would have gone along with it, so...”

“But he didn't,” Ethan interrupts, groaning. “Will...”

“Just... It doesn't matter. Just... Drop it.” Please. Just let it drop because I know where this is most likely going and it's somewhere I really, really don't want it to go. “I did what I had to do, what, it just has to be said, you would have done if you'd been in my shoes, so... Let it go.”

“Will...” Standing up, Ethan walks over to the refrigerator and, having learnt his lesson last time, comes to a stop a small distance away from me. “Whether you would have said yes or not,” he states quietly, “the fact that the bastard didn't even ask you means that...”

“Don't,” I whisper, lifting my head just high enough to shoot Ethan a beseeching look. “Please. Just... Don't. I... It's what I deserved anyway. I... I let my guard down, missed the signs and...”

“Oh God, Will,” Ethan murmurs as he shifts closer and closes his hand gently around my upper arm. “What are you talking about? No one deserves to be...”

“Don't... Please,” I whisper in a plaintive, pleading tone of voice that doesn't even sound like mine as, to my dismay, a sense of panic begins to set in. He's going to say it. I can't stop him any more than I can continue to deny it, but... Hearing it. It's just going to make it more real somehow. “I... I should have seen the signs,” I add, stalling for time by returning the lid to the water bottle and placing it on the bench, “and... and the fact that I didn't, that I... failed... to see them, it... it just proves...”

“The only thing any of this proves is that the bastard raped you,” Ethan states hollowly as, cutting me off mid-plea, he throws caution to the winds and – to my complete and utter astonishment – pulls me close for a tight embrace. “Shit, Will... I'm sorry. I'm so... fucking... sorry,” he continues as, finding it easier to simply give up as opposed to giving in to panic and bolting from the kitchen, I slump against him and, curling my fingers into the soft fabric of his polo shirt, rest my head on his shoulder in an award winning display of defeat. “You're not the one who failed here, Will, as... I did. It's as much my responsibility to be fully up to speed on all aspects of a mission as it is to protect the members of my team, and I... I failed. I failed to be on top of everything and you... you're the one paying the price.”

I hear what Ethan's saying, of course I do. I also comprehend – even if I don't agree with it for so much as a second – why he might be feeling compelled to say it, but... It's not right and I don't want to hear it. In fact, I don't want to hear anything. I just want to stand here, slumped in his embrace that just happens to be as comforting and reassuring as it is both surprising and unexpected, and make the most of what I know has to be an all too brief reprieve. While it's not something I really wish to think about – which, let's face it, can pretty much be said about all aspects of my sad and sorry life at the moment – I can't even remember when I was last held like this, and...

It...

… It's just nice.

It shouldn't be. I mean, Ethan neither sought my permission nor waited for my consent and, in a sense, he's holding me – captive – against my will.

I should, given that those three things are part of what got me in this mess in the first place, be freaking out. Or, at the very least, putting on a show of indignation and annoyance by both pushing him away and telling him to keep his fucking hands to himself. I didn't invite him into my kitchen, I – definitely – didn't want him to know about Henderson, and I most certainly didn't give him the go-ahead to take me in his arms.

But...

Again. It's just nice. Being held like this, by someone who both knows the truth about my – uselessness – failure and who hasn't just immediately written me off as some sort of a hideously bad joke, it's...

Nicer than it should be. That's what it is. I like Ethan, I respect him, and...

Seriously. What I wouldn't give for the circumstances to be different.

Hell. Beggars not being able to be choosers and all that, I'd even be content enough with Ethan simply shutting his mouth and not blaming himself for something that, at the end of the day, happens to be on my head and my head alone. I failed. Not Ethan. He trusted me to do a job and, while the outcome may have ultimately been the desired one, it came at an entirely personal cost - one that's my cross to bear and, again, mine alone.

He shouldn't be apologising.

I shouldn't just be standing here and silently letting him.

Just...

There's no help for it.

There's something wrong with me. Something inherently off-centre that means I can't do anything right.

Can't see the warning signs. Can't protect myself. Can't even find the voice to put what I'm thinking into spoken words.

“Come on, Will. Please... Just look at me. I... I'm sorry. You've just got to believe me that if I'd known, if... if I'd had so much as an inkling...”

“You weren't to know,” I interrupt as I open my eyes and, solely because I know that I have to, that we can't stay like this indefinitely, slowly pull back from Ethan. “Besides, it's my fault. I obviously didn't do a good enough job of reading Henderson and that was the result.” Pausing, I give an indifferent shrug and force myself to, albeit for all of three seconds, hold Ethan's concerned gaze. “But... Whatever. What's done is done and all that. Who knows. Maybe it'll teach me to pay more attention in the future.”

“I...” Shaking his head, Ethan takes a small step back from me. “You don't need to be taught anything, Will,” he murmurs in a hoarse, emotion-laden voice that I've never heard him use before, “and... Fuck! Listen to me, what happened wasn't your fault and you're not to think that it was. You... Fuck! Why didn't you say something, huh? That night, you should have...”

“The reason I didn't say anything was because this isn't a conversation I ever wanted to have,” I mutter, cutting Ethan off as I retrieve my water bottle from the sink before stepping around him and taking a seat at the table. “I let my guard down, Henderson took advantage, and... What happened, happened. Again, whatever. I would have gone along with it if he'd bothered to word me up first, so... So it's not worth making a big deal out of.”

“Accepting that you would have said yes and actually being given the opportunity in the first place are, and I really hate to break this to you, two entirely different things,” Ethan replies with a sigh as he leans against the bench and wearily runs his fingers through his hair. “Look, Will, I know you don't want to be having this conversation, and I don't want to keep harping on it, but...” Falling abruptly silent as his cell phone begins to ring from inside the pocket of his jeans, he glances down in the general vicinity of his thigh and, without making so much as a move to answer it, both frowns and shakes his head.

Recognising the ring tone as the one he has assigned to our Operations Manager, Adam Hollister, I look pointedly at Ethan's pocket and, just for good measure, gesture at it as well. “You probably should get that.”

“He can leave a message,” Ethan retorts as, almost as though on cue, the phone falls silent. “Whatever Hollister wants can wait anyway as right now you're my number one priority.”

And that, right there, is exactly what I was afraid of. I like Ethan, I really do, and knowing that he obviously cares about me is a nice, reassuring feeling, it is, but...

I don't want this. I just don't.

I don't want to talk about that night and nor do I want Ethan to get worked up over something that was essentially outside of his control. He couldn't have stopped it any more than I could have and, damn it, going over and over it just isn't going to achieve anything.

“You don't need to worry about me,” I reply, toasting him with my water. “I'm fine.”

“You sure don't look fine.”

“Well, appearances can be deceiving.”

“Oh. Trust me. I know. That performance you put on the other night after you returned to the hotel suite was, given what I know now, truly inspired.”

“Oscar winning, huh?”

“Well and truly.” Sighing, Ethan once again ignores his phone as it begins to ring and walks over to the table. Taking a seat, he stretches out his hand along the tabletop and lightly trails the very tips of his fingers along my arm. “Will... Look. I don't want to make you feel as though I'm pushing you into a corner or anything like that, but... You need to talk to me.”

“I don't, you know,” I mutter, pulling my arm just out of Ethan's reach and shooting him a warning look. “Just... If it helps put your mind at rest, I...” I can't believe I'm about to say this, but, at the same time, don't know how else to get it through to Ethan that I'm not as... damaged... by all of this as he might be thinking. “I like men. Okay? Henderson, he... Uh... He wasn't the first... uh... 'up there'... if you know what I mean...”

“You say that as though it's honestly meant to change things,” Ethan responds, giving me a pained look. “He... The bastard did that to you against your will and...”

“I would have said yes and, seeing as I'm not entirely sure you heard me the first time, it's not as though I was exactly... uh... factory fresh, so...”

“So that makes it okay, does it?” Ethan interrupts, the agitation he's now feeling coming through loud and clear in both his voice and wide eyes. “Because it's what she's used to, it would have been okay if he'd done the same thing to Jane, yeah? That's pretty much what you're saying, isn't it? If you're used to it, it's not rape.”

“I...” Fuck. While admittedly I can see how he could have chosen to translate my words that way, it's not – of course it isn't – what I meant at all and, as far as I'm concerned anyway, it's yet more proof as to why we shouldn't be doing this. “Of course that's not what I meant,” I sigh as I gaze down at my hands in preference to having to look at Ethan. “I... I just wanted to try to get it across to you that... that it's not a big deal. I might not have wanted it, but I... I brought it on myself and... and it's history. We got Henderson, I'm still here, and...”

“And he still raped you,” Ethan finishes flatly as, Hollister's desire to make contact with him proving to be pretty much all consuming, his phone once again rings into life. “I... I just...”

“What you need to do is answer your Goddamn phone,” I declare breathlessly as I push back the chair and get to my feet. “Just... Don't worry about me and... and stop saying that fucking word!” Feeling increasingly as though the walls of the kitchen are closing in on me, I bolt from the room and, with no real plan in mind other than to get away from Ethan and his... cold, hard truth, make my way into the living room. 

Rape.

Of course it was fucking rape.

I can try to gloss over it, just as I can industriously try to convince myself that if I'd actually got to say yes I'd be perfectly fine with it all, but...

Ethan's right.

Henderson raped me. He tied me up and did things to my body that I never would have given my permission for, and...

I hate it.

I hate Henderson for what he did, and I hate myself for not only having allowed it but also for the continued hold it's having over me.

I...

Oh God.

There's something wrong with me. There has to be. I should have been able to stop it. I should have seen the signs and I should have been able to get out of there.

Useless.

So Goddamn fucking useless.

Ethan should just cut me loose now before I somehow manage to bring him down to my own, gutter-dwelling level.

What he most definitely shouldn't be doing is standing in the doorway and looking over at me with such an obvious expression of concern on his face as I stand, flat-footed and light-headed, in the middle of the living room.

But... He is.

Of course he is.

“I... I'll be fine,” I whisper, holding my hand up in a 'don't even think of approaching' gesture. “Just... I don't need to see a doctor and I don't want to talk to a counsellor, but...” Taking a deep breath, I sink down into the nearest armchair. “If you want to report what happened or don't want me on the team, then I... I'll just go along with whatever you want...”

“If I thought reporting it or forcing you to either see a doctor or a counsellor would be in your best interests, then I... I wouldn't hesitate,” Ethan replies softly as he walks over and crouches down in front of me. “As it is though, because I'm confident it would only end up causing more harm than good, I'm not going to say anything. Your... secret... is safe with me, Will. I... I'm not saying that I'm just going to drop it as I'm here to tell you right now that I'm not, that I... can't. Yes, you're my agent, but you're also my friend and I'm going to do whatever it takes to get this through your thick skull. You're my friend and I want to be able to help you.”

“I don't need...”

“Yes. You do,” Ethan states with a grim smile as he calmly cuts me off. “And, as I want to be the one to offer it to you, you may as well just accept that you're stuck with me.”

“But...” Looking down at Ethan, I sigh and only just resist the urge to cup the side of his face in the palm of my hand. I want what he's saying to be true, needing positives where I can find them at the moment, of course I do, but... Why? Seeing as I feel close to a lost cause, why should he bother or put himself out. I... I'm just not worth it. I'm a liability, and the sooner he sees this the better. “What I just said about being... uh... okay... if you want to drop me from the team, I... I meant it. I mean, I'll understand if...”

“If you don't want to stay with the team then that's a decision only you can make,” Ethan replies as he places his hand down on my knee and gives it an extremely gentle squeeze. “Just as... if you don't want to return to field work or want some time to make your mind up about these things, is. The only person to makes these decisions, Will, is you. For my part, you will always have a place on any team I'm a part of and you're not to ever doubt that. You... You're brilliant and you're... special... and you'll get through this. You just have to accept what's freely being offered to you, and you have to fight, and... and you'll get there.”

Although it's on the tip of my tongue to issue forth with a disparaging comment along the lines of 'you actually sound as though you believe that', I remain silent for fear of casting a dark cloud over Ethan's comforting sense of confidence and settle instead for resting my hand lightly over his.

“You'll get there, Will,” Ethan repeats as, looking slightly relieved at having been able to finally get through to me, he flashes me a soft smile. “Now... While this may actually come as a relief to you, I've got to go as Hollister needs me to brief Gilroy's team on an old case I was once involved in and which has suddenly become active again. They need to fly out tonight and that's why he was so anxious to get hold of me. It shouldn't take too long though, and...” Pulling his hand out from under mine, he stands up and gives me a no-nonsense – 'and, no, I won't take no for an answer' – look. “How about I come back for dinner, yeah?”

“Dinner?” I echo, looking up at Ethan as my addled mind struggles to decide whether it's relief or disappointment I feel at his imminent departure. It may be hypocritical, if not downright confused of me, but while I don't want to talk about what happened, nor do I really know if I want to be on my own either.

Talk about not being able to win.

“You... want me to cook you dinner?” I add, frowning as, it all becoming too much for me, I simply go with the first half way decent response to come to mind.

“No. As I'm inviting myself, I thought I'd pick up something to eat on my way,” Ethan replies, still smiling. “Don't look so... confused. It's not exactly a brain teaser. So... What do you think you might feel like? Chinese? Sushi? Mexican?”

“Uh... Pizza,” I mutter, going for what is most likely the universal fail safe when it comes to take-away. That, and as it's not something I have very often, it really is what I'd like. “If you're really going to insist on coming back for dinner then I... I feel like pizza.”

“Comfort food, huh? I can live with that,” Ethan murmurs, his smile slipping slightly even as he nevertheless nods his acceptance. “Now... I really am sorry about this, but I've got to go,” he continues as he starts to walk out of the room. Pausing in the doorway, he glances over his shoulder and, because I happen to be tracking him with my gaze, manages to catch my eyes. “Will... You're okay with this, right? If you don't want me to come...”

“As I didn't have any plans for the evening,” I interrupt, shrugging, “you're welcome to come around if that's what you want to do. Just... Please. Don't think you have to. I'm a little sore and sorry for myself, but you have my word that I'm not going to do anything stupid and... you don't have to worry about me.”

“As I'm already worried, it's too late for that,” Ethan replies faintly as, his expression clouding over, he pulls his car keys out of his pocket and disappears through the door. “I... I'll see you later,” he calls out as he makes his way to the front door, “and... Uh... If you want anything, don't hesitate to give me a ring. Seriously. If you want me, pick up the phone. Yours is one call I'll always answer.”

Ethan clearly not needing me to see him out, I remain sitting in the armchair and, basically, wait for inspiration to strike. My mind, as I'm becoming used to, a mass of both rapid cycling and going nowhere thoughts, I don't quite know what to do or even what to feel. I'm not happy about Ethan knowing about Henderson, but... he knows now and there's nothing I can do about it. He also... surprised... me with his reaction of what I can only liken more to grief and anger than, as I would have expected, disappointment and disgust. He took it all in his stride though and for that I'm grateful. Very grateful, even. Instead of just taking my failure at face value and washing his hands of me, he seems to be wanting to stand by me, and...

I don't know. Maybe I'm clutching at straws here, and I fully suspect my sense of hope will be proven mistaken in the long run, but, for now at least things don't really seem as dark as they did when I first woke up.

Ethan knows the truth, he doesn't seem to hate me and, while I have no idea what might happen this evening and can't say I'm looking forward to our – unwanted and uncomfortable – conversation picking up where it left off, what I am, however, is looking forward to him coming back. For one, it'll mean that I won't be alone, and for another, it'll prove that he cares, that... as I probably should have accepted on the plane... 

… I don't have to go through this alone.

~*~*~*~

Our farewells having finally come to their – drawn out and lengthy – inevitable conclusion, I remain standing on the path until Jane and Benji are safely ensconced in Jane's Audi before, with one final wave, returning inside and both shutting and locking the front door. I then, after turning off the porch light, glance down at my watch and note with no real degree of surprise that it's just gone midnight and that another day has already passed effortlessly into the annals of history. A quite unremarkable day, at that, but still one that I know could have turned out far worse and which, all things considered, I know that I've been lucky to have. In fact, I'd even go so far as to say that – both against the odds and to my surprise, I even actually enjoyed this evening. 

Granted, it wasn't what I'd been – bracing myself all afternoon for – expecting, and I'm still not entirely sure how it all came about, but, really, when all is said and done it was just... good. Perhaps even what I needed. Close friends, pizza, cold beer, some super-hero-action-movie on DVD that I've already forgotten the title of, but which, for a no-brainer Hollywood blockbuster was entertaining enough, just...

Simple, good times. In it's own way, despite it being something the majority of the civilised world probably take for granted, quite... innocent. No mission-talk, Benji kept his rabid fanboy behaviour to the bare minimum, Ethan only rolled his eyes a couple of times at the sheer improbability of what he was watching, and Jane, after casually announcing that she wouldn't kick either Thor or his (half) brother out of her bed, even managed to keep her... drooling... more or less under control. As for me, although it took a little effort at first, I even – successfully, no more and no less – allowed myself to be so caught up in the stupidity that was taking place on my television screen that for a couple of hours I was even able to ignore the fact that, for reasons known only to himself, Ethan had chosen to bring Jane and Benji along with him in preference to once again having to deal with me on his own.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining about his unanticipated, and completely without warning change to what I'd thought was just going to be Round Two of his attempt to, I don't know, get through to me or whatever, as, to be perfectly honest, I wouldn't change a thing about how the evening actually turned out. Sure, I was more than a little taken aback when I opened the door to find Jane and Benji beaming at me happily while Ethan lurked – or possibly even... skulked – in the background but, not wanting to let on how relieved, as I knew it would keep Ethan off my back for a little longer, I was to see them, I just gestured them in and went along with the... companionable and comfortable flow.

I don't know why Ethan felt compelled to bring backup, but I suspect, given that – under the guise of having had one too many beers and not wanting to risk being pulled over and done for driving under the influence – he refused Jane's offer of a lift in favour of wanting to call a cab, I'm probably going to soon find out. He could, especially as his place isn't far out of her way, easily have gone with Jane. Seeing how long it took us to say our farewells out the front, he even could have called for the cab over thirty minutes ago and already been on his way.

But, no.

He's still here.

Which means, barring some sort of a miracle, he's finally settled on his best line of – logical, well-meaning and heartfelt – attack, and that...

This is going to be it.

Whether either of us particularly like it, he's going to have his say, and I'm going to have to decide between puffing up with defensive attitude or just... giving up and both listening... and... agreeing with him. He means well. I know that. I also know that I'm still grateful to him for both being here and so obviously wanting to try to, I suppose, help me.

It's just...

Seeing as I don't even want to think about either that night or its lingering, oppressive aftermath, how am I supposed to be able to have a calm, controlled and coherent conversation about it? As, let's face it, I was – the star of the show – there, I know what happened. I can even make my reluctant peace with – my incompetence – why it happened. I'm not trying to deny it happened, nor am I even wanting to either gloss over it or hide from it, but...

Talk about it?

God, no.

Biting back a sigh, I eschew passing through the living room to see whether Ethan's roused himself from his slumped – strangely sloth-like, not to mention vaguely comatose – position on the sofa and wander into the kitchen in order to begin to stack the dishwasher. I've barely got the tablet in place and the door shut on the machine when, looking no more – like his usual, always in charge and unflappable self – awake and with it than he did sitting on the sofa, Ethan silently materialises in the doorway. With his hands in the pockets of his jeans and his expression on the blank side of unreadable, he leans back against the doorframe and just... gazes at me as though, somehow, I'm supposed to know just what it is he wants. This, however, being Ethan we're talking about here, I have no clue whatsoever in regards to what's likely to be happening here and, not liking the feeling of being watched, decide to ignore him and simply go about my business of tidying up. 

If I take the number of... 'empty'... beer cans he kept trekking from the living room to the bin in the kitchen with at face value, he may well be, in fact he should be well on the way to being quite drunk. Definitely over the limit and not thinking his best, at any rate. But, again, this is Ethan, the man who's an even bigger control freak than I am, we're talking about here, and... I'm just not convinced. Just because he kept carrying allegedly empty beer cans into the kitchen doesn't for a second have to mean that they were actually... well... empty. He could have easily just taken a sip or two before tipping the rest down the sink. I mean, it's not as though anyone was paying him all that much attention. I'd look up every time he left the room, and, yeah, okay, I always noticed that he had a can in his hand, but, really, that's about as far as my level of notice went. Why exactly he'd want to go to so much effort to trick everyone into thinking he was drunk escapes me, but, call me suspicious by nature, I'm just not buying it. By pretending to have had too much drink he gave himself the perfect excuse to stay behind once the others had left and I can't help but think this would have been his goal all along.

Alone.

At last.

Why he chose to go about it this way, especially as seeing I'd been expecting him to come around this evening on his own, I don't know...

… But I doubt, going on the way he's lurking in the doorway, I'm going to have to wait all that long to find out.

Ethan is giving every impression of being out of his depth – which, to be perfectly honest, is cause for quite unfamiliar and unnerving concern all in itself – and I know, I just know, that something is going to have to give. He's here for a reason. He brought Benji and Jane with him this evening for a reason. He pretended to drink enough to both not be able to drive and to have an excuse to stay behind for a reason. He's looking at me and, as his mouth opens and closes as he searches for the right thing to say, frowning for... a reason.

And, conversely, I'm busying myself with putting things away in cupboards and aimlessly wiping down the – already clean – bench for... a reason. At least I know what mine is though, and that's simply... general avoidance. If I look busy and don't catch Ethan's gaze then I can delay the inevitable for a few – blissfully silent – minutes more. We'll talk... Actually. No. Make that, Ethan will eventually find the energy to talk at me and, because I've both effectively trapped myself in the kitchen and am just too polite to stalk past him and lock myself in either the bedroom or bathroom, I'll pretend to not only listen, but also to take in whatever it is he's feeling compelled to bombard me with. We'll then probably, once he's finished having his say, smile politely at each other before, feeling no better than we did at the beginning of the evening, going our separate ways and bemoaning lost opportunities.

Maybe...

I don't know.

Maybe, assuming he ever opens his mouth, that is, I should actually listen to Ethan instead of just – plastering on my listening face and nodding every so often at hopefully appropriate moments – pretending to.

He's here for both a reason, and because he wants to be.

I'm not making an issue out of it or – already going on the defensive – making pointed comments about whether he's called for a cab already, because I...

I want him to be here, too.

I'm fairly confident I don't want to be having the conversation that I just know has to be coming, but at the same time I don't really want to be alone and, out of all the people in the world, I can't think of anyone I'd prefer to have here with me than Ethan.

He's my friend. He knows the sad and sorry truth.

And I need to know where things stand between us. Does he still trust me? Does he want me off the team? Does he want to lecture me on honesty? Has he changed his mind about not writing it up in the report or telling the Secretary? Does he think I'm a failure? Does he regret making the decision to have me on the team? Does he... no longer want anything to do with me?

I need to know these things because...

I...

… I need Ethan.

I need him to stand up for me.

I need to know that things are okay between us and that I still have a reason to fight.

“I... I'm sorry,” Ethan at long last murmurs from his statue-like position in the doorway just as I'd finished wiping down the sink and was wondering, short of grabbing the mop and bucket and turning my attention to the floor, what I could move on to next. “I'm... I'm just sorry.”

“If you're apologising for Benji's taste in movies,” I reply in a deliberately light, vaguely facetious tone as I reluctantly turn around to face him, “then don't bother. While it's not something I ever would have chosen for myself, and I'll deny it if you ever share this with him, I didn't actually mind it.”

“It's not the movie I'm apologising for,” Ethan responds with both a sigh and slow shake of his head as he lowers his gaze and won't look at me. “Although, now that you've mentioned it I can see that I should probably add it to my long list of... uh... things I need to make up to you as well. If I'd known Benji was going to choose...” Trailing off, he sighs again and, with pretty much the same degree of reluctance I used a moment ago to turn around, lifts his head to give me a fleeting look through downcast eyes. “I... Fuck! I'm just sorry for everything, okay... I'm sorry for wimping out and hiding behind Jane and Benji all evening, and I'm sorry for even bringing them with me in the first place because I... uh... lacked the courage to face you on my own. Not, I hasten to add, because I didn't want to be alone with you, but because... uh... I was afraid of opening my stupid mouth without thinking and saying the wrong thing to you. I... I was worried about offending or, worse, even hurting you, so I took the cowards way out and used the others as... uh... protection and I... I'm just sorry. For everything. I'm sorry for every Goddamn thing.”

Ethan's – clearly heartfelt – apology 'dump' being just about the last thing I expected to hear from him, I don't really know how to respond and, although I know it's cowardly of me in my own way and that I should just murmur something along the lines of having been perfectly fine with seeing Jane and Benji, stare at him with what I know just has to be a blank expression on my face. While I'd suspected that he'd brought the others with him as a form of backup, I hadn't really thought anything of it, and what I certainly hadn't been was either bothered or offended by it. If anything, their – blissfully ignorant of the black cloud hanging over both of our heads – presence made the evening a good one and I'm actually thankful to Ethan for having, regardless of his reasons, thought to invite them.

For some reason though I just can't say this to him right now and think, and I really hope I'm not – yet again – reading the scene incorrectly here and simply making a huge mistake, that I just need to let him talk. While I might have been bracing myself for having to listen to this, Ethan's clearly been going over – and over, and over – it in his head and I really think I just need to let him get it off his chest. It's not going to be easy, for either of us, but it's still the least I can do. If he thinks I'm... worthy enough... of getting himself this worked up about, then I owe him the dubious honour of just letting him go.

I also want, if not... need, to hear what it is he has to say.

“I'm even sorry for... this,” Ethan continues with another sigh as he pulls his hand out of his pocket and uses it to gesture airily around the kitchen. “For just... imposing myself on you and raving on like a lunatic. I know... That is, logic, or, if you like, my... head... tells me that I should just go and leave you in peace. As I just said, I'm imposing myself on you and, worse, I'm babbling like a complete and utter fucking idiot. Hell. You'd probably get a more coherent conversation from Benji fresh from indulging his inner-geek at Comic-Con than you will out of me at the moment, but...” Pausing, he sighs deeply and, still clearly wanting to do whatever he can to avoid catching my gaze, tilts his head back against the doorframe. “My head, particularly as I just know I'm only going to make things worse than they already are by staying, tells me that I should quit while I'm arguably ahead and just leave. My... uh... heart, however, doesn't want to. And... uh... the reason I don't, even though it's what logic is screaming at me to do, want to go is because I... I don't want to leave you. It... It's stupid, I know that. Irrational, too. But... The awkwardness of it all aside, I... I just want to be with you. I'm still wary of saying the wrong thing, and I know I'm only being a complete coward for not manning up and just coming out and asking whether you even want me here or not, but...”

“I'm okay with you staying,” I murmur quietly as, clearly surprised at having been cut off mid-spiel, Ethan lowers his head and looks across at me. “If here is where you want to be then, although I can't say I really understand why it's what you think you want, I... I'm fine with it. In fact...” Straightening up, I force myself to look him in the eye and, both in the name of following his lead of travelling – or perhaps that should be, stumbling – down the path of complete honesty and because I think it's something he may just well need to hear, add, “I'd like it. I'd like you stay.”

“Please don't think you have to...”

“I don't,” I mutter, once again cutting Ethan off as, shrugging, I make a very deliberate point of holding his gaze. “If... you're not just pandering to me then... I'm not pandering to you either. I'd like you to stay, Ethan, because I don't think this is a conversation that we can keep putting off. I'm not saying I want to have it because, hey, God know I don't, I really, really don't, but... There are things we probably both need to know, yeah, and... this, I suspect, is as good a time as any to get it all out in the open.”

“Or it would be, if I knew, that is, what to say,” Ethan replies with a grimace as, pushing away from the doorframe, he walks over to the table and takes a seat. “You... You're right though. Of course you are. I just wish that I knew how to go about it, that's all. I've had hours to think about everything I want to be able to say but... while there may have been a time when it made perfect sense in my head, now... Now that the time to speak up is here, I... I just don't know what to say.”

“Then...” I shrug again and dredge up a wan, hopefully vaguely encouraging looking smile. “Seeing as you're already doing a better job of speaking up than I feel capable of doing, how about just continuing to... uh... talk from the heart,” I offer softly, if not even a little breathlessly as I mentally cross my fingers in the hope that Ethan finds himself capable of doing just that. He's done, even though I suspect he wouldn't believe me if I mentioned it to him, such a good job of ensnaring my attention so far that I just really don't want him to stop now. Knowing how charged the moment is and how we'd both only regret it if we clam up and let it slip from our fingers, I'll... somehow... find the words to fill the silence if Ethan can't, but...

It's selfish of me, I get that, but I need Ethan to be the one to take control.

“From the heart, huh?” he murmurs with a wan smile of his own as he leans back in his chair and stretches his legs out. Looking far more... alert... than he did only a few minutes ago, it's obvious now that I was right to have my suspicions regarding his alcohol consumption being little more than a ruse to be able to stay behind without raising eyebrows and, not for the first time or, I suspect the last, I marvel at his consummate acting abilities. “As it's not exactly something I've had a lot of practice of, are you sure you're willing to risk being the... uh... lucky recipient of my... from the heart... rambling?”

“Given that I'm confident it'd still be better than anything I could currently come up with,” I reply, wandering over and, pretty much for no other reason than I think I should probably be sitting down for this, taking a seat at the opposite end of the table, “yeah, it's a risk I'm more than willing to take. Just... Whatever it is you want to say to me, Ethan, just... say it. Don't hold back and just hit me with it. If... If you don't feel as though you can trust me anymore or don't want me to remain on the team, then I... I think I need to hear it.”

“What? No!” Ethan exclaims with, if both the tone of his voice and the widening of his eyes is anything to go by, obvious surprise, if not perhaps even a little dismay. “Will, I...” Shaking his head, he sits up straighter and rests his arms on top of the table. “Just... Where'd that come from, huh? Of course I trust you and, or so I would have hoped anyway, it goes without saying that I still want to work with you, that... your place on the team is yours for as long as you want it.” Sighing, he shakes his head again and, clearly not quite knowing what to do with himself, rubs his hands over his face. “Just... Shit! Please don't tell me that's what you've been thinking all of this time, because, you've got to believe me here, it couldn't be further from the truth.”

“It's okay, you know,” I respond quietly as, knowing better than to get my hopes, I try not to pin too much weight on Ethan's – curiously heartfelt – response. “I'm a big boy and I... can... take it. If you think I'm useless or a failure or... or a liability or whatever, then just say it. I know that I let the team down and I'm prepared to wear the consequences. So... Please. Don't feel as though you have to sugar coat things or hold back for my benefit as I... I know. I already know what it is you have to be thinking and, as I've probably already thought it myself, don't think you can offend me as...

“No. You're wrong.” Leaning forward, Ethan slides his hand along the table and gently brushes the tips of his fingers against mine. “You're wrong in so many ways that I don't even know where to start or... how to get through to you,” he murmurs as, biting down on my bottom lip, I gaze back at him. “Will, just... listen to me, please. I know you're a very private person and that you're used to doing things that effect your life entirely your own way, but... You're wrong.”

“I... I failed,” I whisper, dropping my gaze down to the table.

“No. You didn't.”

“I did. I missed the signs and...”

“Where's Henderson?”

“Sorry? What's that got to do with...”

“Henderson. Where is he?”

“Uh... Last I heard he'd been transported to the basement interrogation cells at HQ.”

“So... The mission was a success, then?”

“Yes, but...”

“You did your job, Will. That's all. You didn't fail and you're not, you're... never... to think that you did. We were given a mission, I gave you the lead, and you came through.”

“But...” I hear what Ethan's saying, I do. The logical part of my brain, the one I not so long ago took for granted and relied on, even tells me that it's true, but still I struggle to actually accept it. I want to, God know I want to have the sort of epiphany that convinces me once and for all that I'm over reacting and that everything really is going to be okay, but...

I let the team down.

I let... myself... down.

I mean...

Henderson, he...

“No buts,” Ethan whispers as, effectively saving me from myself and my perfectly pathetic inability to so much as... think... of using that particular word to describe what the bastard did to me, he curls his fingers around my wrist. “You didn't let anyone down and you're not a failure. What Henderson did, it was out of your control and, although I don't really want to be saying this, I honestly believe there wasn't anything you could have done to stop it.”

“I missed...”

“You didn't,” he continues, tightening his grip on my wrist as he hooks his foot around the leg of his chair and shuffles just that little bit closer to me. “You played your part so well, and Henderson's such a sadistic asshole, that... the outcome was always going to be the same. You already said this morning that if the fucker had bothered to ask that you would have gone along with it anyway in order to keep your cover. So... If he'd asked you'd have forced yourself to endure it anyway. He didn't ask though, and you still went along with it without letting your mask of professionalism slip. And... Lastly... Just think about it. If you... had... failed and he'd seen through your cover, he probably would have done it anyway In fact, he may even have killed you.”

“I...” Okay. I'll admit that I hadn't actually thought about it in quite those exact terms before. Although I'd made my – begrudging – peace with the unpalatable fact that I would have, without hesitation and with just the right amount of enthusiasm to sell it, 'willingly' gone along with it if he'd asked, what I hadn't ever spared a second thought to was what would have happened if I'd... really... failed and Henderson had realised I was both undercover and playing him. Ethan though, he's right in that if he'd seen though my act he would have done it anyway and not only would it have been most likely even worse than it was but, yes, he probably would have killed me when he'd finished.

If I'd failed, if I'd really failed as badly as I've been convinced that I did, Henderson wouldn't be in custody and I'd either be dead or... still chained up somewhere.

“Come on, Will,” Ethan prompts with a gentle smile, “you're usually the more logical one out of the pair of us and you've got to know that I'm right. What happened to you... shouldn't have. It never should have happened and... I can't even put into words how sorry I am that you had to go through it, but... It was out of your control and I honestly believe there's not a thing you could have done to stop it, so... Please stop thinking that you failed, as you didn't. The mission was a success, your cover is still intact, and... most importantly of all, you're still here. Besides...” Abruptly pulling his hand away from mine, he shoots me an oddly anxious look and, with both a deep breath and a shake of his head, jumps to his feet.

“Ethan?” My own, self-absorbed concerns immediately taking a backseat to the curiosity and, yes, concern I feel for Ethan's sudden change in both mood and behaviour, I swivel around in my seat and watch as, well and truly looking as though he doesn't know what to do with himself, he leans against the bench and sighs. “Are you okay? Is there anything that I can do for...”

“As it would only be the very definition of irony if you could,” Ethan interrupts, grimacing, “just... Please. Don't even ask.”

“Sorry?” Frowning, I try to get Ethan to meet my eyes for a couple of seconds before, knowing when I'm only wasting my time, giving up and shrugging. “What on earth are you talking about? If there's anything that I could do for you then, seriously, you've just got to say the...”

“Don't. Just... Don't,” Ethan repeats in a soft, pained voice as, turning around, he places his hands flat on the bench and gazes down at them. “You didn't fail here, I... I did. I failed as your team leader and I let you down horribly.”

Ethan's statement of both self-blame and guilt being just about the last thing I ever expected to hear out of him, I don't quite know how to reply and, after what feels like an entirely – incredibly long – minute has passed, end up just muttering a truly inspiring, “What?”

“It was my job to protect you from Henderson and I failed,” he states, directing his response to the bench as, feeling as though I'm once again operating on autopilot, I stand up and walk over to stand, just out of arm's reach, behind him. “Not only that, but it's also entirely down to me that you were even there in the first place. So... Uh... Can't you see the irony in offering to help me when I'm the reason you had to go through...”

“What are you talking about?” I query, cutting Ethan off and, although I stop short of actually touching him, wafting my hand over his slumped shoulders. “Of course you're not to blame. I had lead on the mission and...”

“And why do you think you had that, huh?” Ethan whispers as, clearly not liking my proximity all that much, he stiffens and shifts closer to the bench. “Think about it, Will. The reason you had the lead was because I gave it to you and... and the reason I gave it to you was because I wanted... no... make that, I felt as though I needed to... test you. Although you'd never given me any reason to doubt your abilities I thought that the time had come to send you off on your own and I... I dropped the ball. Too focussed on having my confidence in your skills as an agent confirmed, I didn't pay enough attention to the threat Henderson posed and you paid the price.”

“I...” While I'd only be lying to myself if I said I wasn't taken aback by Ethan's... confession, what I'm not – and of this I'm certain – is bothered by it. So what if I only crossed paths with Henderson because, in the name of IMF, Ethan decreed it? I was just doing my job. And if I hadn't been the one charged with the task of working Henderson then it only would have been someone else and...

Whatever.

If Ethan's right, which I honestly believe he is, and the outcome was always going to be the same, if it – Henderson and his perverted predilections – hadn't happened to me then it just would have happened to someone else, and...

Again, whatever.

It happened, I survived, and while I might be only too... accepting... of my own sense of failure, what I don't accept is the need to blame anyone else. Ethan, as my team leader, wanted to see if I was up to taking the lead during the mission and he chose to do this with Henderson as the target. What he did was entirely logical and I don't blame him for any of it. At the end of the day he's responsible for both the team and the successful completion of the mission and, as such, he had every right to test whether I was lead material. He wasn't to know that Henderson would... do what he did and somehow I have to find a way to get this through to him.

“You knew, then, that Henderson liked to celebrate closing a deal by... uh... having his wicked way with his new business partner?” I murmur lightly as, for no other reason than it's suddenly what I feel like doing, I rest my hand on Ethan's shoulder.

“What?” Dislodging my hand as he spins around to shoot me a horrified look, Ethan shakes his head and frowns. “Of course I didn't know! If I had, if... I'd even had so much as an inkling that it was even on the cards I would have both warned you and made sure that you had a fail-safe extraction plan. I was... testing you, not setting you up...”

“Then that's all that ever needs to be said on the subject,” I declare matter-of-factly as, subscribing to the 'try, try again' school of thought, I reach out my hand and place it on Ethan's upper arm. “I don't blame you, Ethan, and, seriously, you're not to blame yourself for any of it. I get why you did it, why you felt as though you needed to test me and... I'm okay with it. You didn't know about Henderson and, if it's not in any of our intel about him... which it's not, as I read all the reports we had on him before going in, just as you did... then there's no way you could have known.”

“I can't blame myself for having messed up, but... it's perfectly fine for you to believe that you failed when, really, you didn't at all?” Ethan counters, glancing down at my hand as it rests on his arm but making no attempt to shake it off. “Will...”

“It happened,” I interrupt, digging my fingers perhaps just a little too tightly into his arm as I step even closer and look directly into Ethan's eyes, “and there's nothing either of us can do to... undo... it. You're probably right in that it was just inevitable and there was nothing I could have done to stop it. What you're not right about, however, is that you're either to blame... or that I'd blame you... for any of it. So...” Taking a leaf out of Ethan's book, the one he used to suddenly change tack with when he came out with his confession of fault at the kitchen table only a few minutes ago, I shrug and, pulling my hand away, start to walk over to the refrigerator. “I'm going to make myself a hot chocolate. Would you like one?”

“A... what?” Ethan exclaims, sounding confused, if not bemused at my superior display of – what the fuck? – randomness. “Did you really just offer me a hot chocolate?”

“I did,” I confirm, opening the refrigerator and pulling out the milk. “I feel like a hot drink,” I continue, closing the door with my hip and placing the milk on the bench before moving over to the cupboard above the microwave and grabbing out two mugs. “Now, if I want to get any sleep tonight it's too late for coffee, and as I'm out of decaf and don't really feel like a cup of tea, hot chocolate it is. So... Do you want one or not?”

“When I was young my mother used to make me hot chocolate as a treat,” Ethan murmurs somewhat dubiously as – getting with the 'random, hot chocolate' themed programme – he shifts closer to me in order to keep a better watch over what I'm doing. “Somehow, however, and don't ask me how because even she didn't know how she always managed it, whenever she made it it would invariably be... lumpy...”

“Must be a 'Mother Special', because mine always made it lumpy as well,” I reply as I glance at Ethan and flash him an all-too-brief, yet honestly happy smile. “In fact, not only was it lumpy, but it was also quite horrible as well, and...”

“Instead of being a treat, it was something you used to dread?” he finishes with both a laugh and a quick smile of his own. “I used to think I had the only mother in existence who couldn't make hot chocolate, but it appears now that I was wrong.”

“While I could say something about it being the thought that counts and all that,” I reply, checking first to see if there's water in the kettle before turning it on and crouching down to peer in the cupboard for the drinking chocolate, “I think I'll settle instead for promising that I've mastered the art of lump-free hot chocolate and asking... yet again, I might add... whether you'd like one...”

“A cup of your... Hot Chocolate Avoidance Special?”

“That'd be the one. If it helps, I have the proper Swiss stuff.”

“It does help, actually.”

“So... That'll be a yes, then?”

“Mmm... You win. Seeing as you offered so nicely, please, I'd love a hot chocolate.”

Finally spotting the chocolate at the very back of the cupboard, I pull it out and, with a flash of a smug, triumphant smile at Ethan, set about making our drinks. “You can go back into the living room, if you'd like. Once I've finished making the drinks I'll bring them in and join you.”

“To... finish our conversation, or... to simply pretend none of this ever happened?” Ethan queries dubiously. “Will, I...”

“We can talk,” I interrupt, “but not about blame. I heard what you said and, okay, while I can understand where you're coming from and would have felt the same way myself, what happened had nothing to do with your leadership and I neither hold you at fault nor blame you for any of it. Just as...” Pausing, I sigh. “Just as I accept your... theory... that the outcome was essentially out of my hands. I... I still feel as though I should have known it was coming somehow, but...”

“You weren't to know and you couldn't have stopped it without risking blowing your cover,” Ethan murmurs as he gives my upper arm a quick squeeze before beginning to walk towards the door. “I don't want to lecture you, Will, and I don't want you to just agree with me because you think it's what I want to hear and hope it'll make me go away, but... At the risk of sounding like a cracked record here, I'll try to shake off my sense of guilt if you try to stop feeling as though failed, yeah? Just... How does that sound?”

“It... It doesn't sound too bad, actually,” I reply, glancing over my shoulder at Ethan as he stands, waiting for my answer, in the doorway. “It really, really doesn't.” What's more, I'm not simply lying because, just as he mentioned, it's what I think he wants to hear. Things, they... do seem better than they did not all that long ago. I'm not saying I've entirely made my peace with what happened yet, but... I'm getting there. And, of course, it's pretty much entirely down to Ethan and his – possibly even – instinctive ability to say the right things and get through to me. He hones in on the points I need to hear, the ones I haven't taken into consideration myself, and, because it's Ethan, who I trust and may even rely on just a little, I not only listen to him but, more importantly, I believe him as well.

I believe him, because he means a lot to me. More than, until now that is, I'd even realised.

“Then I think we're finally getting somewhere,” Ethan responds as, knowing when to take his minor victory and run with it, he slips through the door and heads in the direction of the living room. 

Murmuring, “Thank God for small mercies,” under my breath, I quite contentedly focus on making the hot chocolate and once it's made – and hopefully entirely lump free – I carry the two cups out of the kitchen feeling better than I have for days. Again, I'm not delusional enough to believe that a miracle's just occurred and everything – confidence, mental state, work, life, you name it – is going to immediately return to how it was... pre-Henderson, but, all things considered, I'm feeling pretty okay. I've had a good evening, I can now see what happened two nights ago in a different light, and...

Ethan's still here.

He's still here because clearly he can see something in me that's worth both his time and effort and, for that reason alone things are a lot brighter than they were earlier.

Entering the living room with not so much a... spring... in my step but with a certain lightness that's been missing for forty-eight or so hours, I smile and hand over a cup of hot chocolate to Ethan as he sits in the armchair closest to the window. “Here you go,” I murmur as he takes it from me with his own smile of thanks. “Hopefully very much lump free.”

“Hopefully?” he queries as, no doubt putting on a bit of performance for either my benefit or his own amusement, he peers down at the cup and wrinkles his nose. “I thought I distinctly heard you... promise... that you'd mastered the making of it.”

“Well, there's only one way to find out,” I reply, toasting him with my cup as I walk over and take a seat on the sofa. “Go on, Ethan. Live dangerously. Given that I've obviously just... dinted... your trust in me, you won't take my word for it and will just have to... man up... and take a mouthful for yourself.”

“Man up, huh?” Snorting, he brings the cup up to his nose and tentatively sniffs it.

“Mmm... Man up,” I repeat, gracing him with an unbothered smile as I settle myself back against the sofa and rest my feet on the edge of the coffee-table. “I'll bet you didn't behave like this, or put on quite as good a show for your mother when she gave you a drink.”

“No. You're right. As you seem intent on so... charmingly... putting it, I manned up and immediately had as big a mouthful of it as I could manage.”

“Then... What are you waiting for?” As, let's face it, incredibly silly things to talk about go, this... the Continuing Saga of the Hot Chocolate, would just about have to take the proverbial cake for sheer pointlessness. Yet, at the same time, as it's as harmless as it is puerile, there's not really a thing I'd change about it. It's both light-hearted and good-natured, and, I think, something we both need to momentarily take our minds off, well, everything else.

“While I... had... been waiting for you to lead the way and have the first mouthful,” Ethan retorts, rolling his eyes as he follows my earlier lead by toasting me with his cup, “I can see now that you're clearly wanting to me the taste-testing guinea pig, so... Here goes nothing.” Plastering an award winning expression of determination on his face, he sits up straight and, with his gaze locked on mine, slowly takes a sip of hot chocolate. He then, just as I knew he'd have to, takes moment to savour it as though it was a fine wine before, with both a wink and a grin, stating, “Perfect. Although, yes, I have to say that I doubted you there for a moment, you've come through with the perfect, lump free cup of hot chocolate and... I think I'll keep you.”

“Keep me, huh?” I murmur, raising my eyebrow as I take a sip of my drink and, to my great relief, note that it is indeed lump free and tastes exactly how I'd hoped it would. “Dare I ask... how? Because if you're going to say chained to the kitchen I've got some disappointing news for you.”

“Chained... Shit!” Both his grin and expression of good humour from only a couple of seconds ago deserting him, Ethan sighs and lowers his head to gaze down at his cup. “Oh God.... Sorry, Will. It was just a joke. A... bad one, at that, and one that I didn't mean anything by. Uh... Certainly not like...”

“Not like...” Trailing off as it finally hits me just how spectacularly we've accidentally crossed wires here, I shake my head and, returning my feet to the floor, lean forward to try to get Ethan's attention. “Oh! It's okay, Ethan. What you said was fine as... that's... not where my mind went at all. I... I never thought you were implying that you'd want to... uh... keep me to yourself or anything like that. It... You're right. It was just a joke.”

“A bad one,” he repeats, scowling down at his hot chocolate, “and one that I'm sorry for. I... I'd never do anything like that to you, Will, and I can't believe that I was stupid enough to even imply it. I'm not into that sort of thing and, again, I'd never even... threaten... you with it. Just... I... I don't even know what I was thinking and would understand if you just want me to leave...”

Vaguely alarmed as to Ethan's – over – reaction to something which I honestly wouldn't even have caught on to if he hadn't started to immediately apologise quite so profusely about it, I decide to make a bid to simply gloss over the moment and, relaxing back against the sofa, take a sip of my drink. “I don't want you to leave,” I state softly, “and... nor do I want you to feel as though you have to forever watch what you say around me. While I might seem a little... twitchy... at the moment, it's only because it's all still a little... raw, but, I... I'm still the same person and, while I can't just wave a magic wand and erase it from my memory, I'm not going to let it change me.”

“I'm still sorry,” Ethan whispers, directing his response to his cup of hot chocolate before, finally, lifting his head and giving me a worried, possibly even pained look. “I just... I feel as though I'm out of my depth, that's all. From what I thought when I first saw that photo to... how I felt this morning when it was clear that... uh... you hadn't been a willing participant, it... It's all just eating away at me and... everything I'm doing seems to be wrong. I want to help you, to... make up for...”

“There's nothing you have to... make up for,” I interrupt as, not much liking the look of where this appears to be going and wishing that we were still bantering about hot chocolate, I put my drink down on the coffee-table and sigh. “Listen to me, Ethan. I'm fine. I'm... well on my way to making my peace with what happened and, besides which, even if I wasn't and was heading in the opposite, basket-case, direction, it... It's my problem, not yours. You're not to feel responsible for either me, or for what happened. I don't blame you for any of it and... if you really want to do something for me, just... Please, just be my friend and let the matter drop...”

“If only I could,” he mutters, leaning forward and placing his cup on the coffee-table before standing up and walking over to the window. “It shouldn't be this way at all,” he continues barely loud enough for me to hear as he pulls the drapes just far enough back to gaze out through the glass at the dark world outside. “I... shouldn't be taking this worse than you seem to be and I... I just don't know what to do.”

“You don't... have... to do anything.”

“I... do.”

“You don't.”

“Will...”

“You don't have to do anything more than what you're already doing,” I declare. “You're here, Ethan, and that's enough. So... Please. Just drink your hot chocolate and let's find something else to talk about.”

“If only I could,” he repeats with a sigh as he pulls the drapes back shut and slowly turns around to face me. “I know I shouldn't be saying this and that we'd all probably be better off if I just kept my big mouth shut, but...” Pausing, he rubs his hands over his face and gives me a beseeching look. “I... I'm going to say it anyway because, regardless of the consequences, I don't want to keep any secrets from you and... uh... I think it's something you deserve to know.”

“Deserve?” I murmur hesitantly as, caught hook, line and sinker, by Ethan's world-weary, anxious demeanour, I get up from the sofa and shift into the armchair closest to him. “What are you talking about? What do I... deserve... to know?”

“The truth about me,” Ethan replies flatly as he responds to my sudden proximity by moving a little further away and repositioning himself by the television. “You deserve to know... the truth...”

“What do you mean... the truth?” I query, shrugging. “I may not know everything there is to know about you, but, hey, what I do know is enough to know that I'm lucky to both know you and to be able to count you as a friend, so...”

“When I first saw that photo on Henderson's phone,” he mutters, cutting me off and pulling a face, “my initial, knee-jerk reaction was, if you can even believe it, one of jealousy. So... How's that for cold, hard truth, huh? I saw you... like that... and my first thought was that I was fucking jealous of Henderson for having... got what I wanted...”

Too surprised by Ethan's... truth... to even issue forth with a bland 'oh', I stare at him through wide eyes and just... wait... for a sense of comprehension to wash over me.

Jealous?

He was... jealous... of Henderson because the bastard… had me tied, naked, to a bed and was doing...

No.

It can't be right.

Henderson was... raping... me, and Ethan, he...

I can't...

I don't want to believe it.

Not Ethan.

Why...

Why though, would he say it if it wasn't the... truth?

And, if it is the truth... Why?

Why would he be jealous of Henderson? Because he was an arrogant sadist who always got what he wanted? Because he had me strapped down and helpless?

Because...

… It's what turns Ethan on? Pain. Control. Debasement.

“No...” Dully shaking my head, I draw my feet up onto the edge of the armchair and hug my arms around my knees. This... It's just too much for me. I feel as though I've just fallen down the rabbit hole and, instead of landing in Wonderland I've found myself trapped in a very dark and gloomy dungeon. “Ethan, I... Why? Why would you even say something like that?”

“Because it's the truth,” he murmurs with a dry, derisive snort. “I saw that photo and, without once pausing to think about the circumstances in which it was taken, all I could think about was how fucking jealous I was.”

“But...” I have to know. I may not like the answer, but I still have to know it. “Why? I... I don't understand...”

“Because he had you naked and hard, that's why.”

“Oh...” Just... Oh. I mean, what else am I supposed to say? Maybe I really am dense, but I just don't understand what's going on here. Ethan was jealous of Henderson because...

Naked.

Hard.

Helpless.

I...

I can't do this.

Abruptly standing up, I shoot Ethan a disgusted look and, wanting to get away from him before I really lose it, start to walk towards the door. Quickly placing himself in front of me though, he stops me from succeeding in my bid for freedom and, to my absolute horror, places his hands firmly on my shoulders.

“I've shocked you, haven't I?” he whispers as, too defeated by this turn of events to even fight, I drop my head and stare down at the floor. “Will? Look at me..”

“Fuck you,” I mutter. “If your... truth... is that... S&M floats your boat and you want to take up where Henderson left off, then...”

“I'm not into S&M and I'd never do anything like that to you, or anyone else for that matter,” Ethan replies as, not content with blocking my exit, he gently cups my cheek in the palm of his hand and uses just enough pressure to get me to lift my head in order to be able to look up at him. “Just... I went about it poorly, if not even completely wrongly, but what I was wanting you to know is that... uh... the reason I was jealous of that bastard was because he had you how I wanted...”

“Tied to a bed and trapped!” I exclaim, jerking my head back from Ethan's touch and, after shaking off his other hand from my shoulder, taking a stumbled step back from him. “Just... Don't! I've heard enough.”

“But that's just it, you haven't. You need to...”

“I damn well have! Ethan, I... I thought you were my friend, that I... I could trust...”

“You can trust me, Will, and... in my hideously awful way... that's what I'm trying to get through to you. You can trust me because I... I wanted you to know the truth.”

“That you're a sick sadist!”

“I'm not a sadist,” Ethan replies patiently as, wanting to both give me space and clear my path to the door, he shifts away and goes to stand by the wall. “I'm an idiot who didn't, despite having spent most of the evening going over it in my mind, think this out very well, but I'm not a sadist and, again, I could never hurt you.”

“Then...” No longer, thanks to the way my heart is hammering in my chest, feeling as though I have it in me to remain standing, I flop back down into the armchair and shake my head. “Why? Why would you say what you did?”

“Because it's the truth,” he sighs. “My first thought was one of jealousy because that's how I wanted you myself. Naked and hard, not... tied up or... in pain, or anything else like that. I didn't, in my knee-jerk jealousy, even see the S&M element at first and, because it was easier than contemplating the alternative, I simply assumed that you were... no pun intended... up for it and... uh... a willing participant, and... And that's what I was jealous of. Not the specific... nature... of what was happening, but that he was getting to... have you...”

“Oh...” Some of my – panic – ire beginning to slowly dissolve as what I... think... Ethan is trying to say starts to sink in, I cock my head to the side and frown. “So... Let me get this straight. What you're trying to say is that you... wanted... me?”

“Want,” Ethan corrects with a tentative smile as, looking relieved, he walks over and takes a seat on the edge of the coffee-table. “I get that I went about it horribly wrong, but what I was wanting to get through to you is... I want you. What's more, I've done so for months now and... and that photo just brought it all home for me...”

“Wanted,” I whisper, stubbornly returning to the past tense because, simply put, it's easier than getting my foolhardy hopes up. “You may have, for reasons known only to yourself, wanted me, but... but you can't now.”

His smile, while still on the tentative side, broadening slightly, Ethan shrugs and, leaning forward, places his hand on my knee. “Why? Why can't I want you? As you said yourself not so long ago, you're still the same person you were a couple of days ago.”

“Because...” I'm the King of Over-Reacting, that's why. That, and it's all so far out of left field that I'm still struggling to get my head around it being so much as a possibility. Ethan... wants me? Ethan, who I admire and rely on and would do absolutely anything for, is sitting there saying that he wants me, and...

Pathetically, it's almost too much for my addled mind to handle.

“How about looking at it another way, then,” he murmurs, squeezing my knee. “If something like what happened to you happened to someone... you... care deeply about, would it change your opinion of them?”

“What? No...” Grateful to Ethan for seeing such an easy, effortless path through my inner turmoil, I stake my head and place my hand lightly over his. “Of course it wouldn't. It wouldn't change anything other than my... desire to make up for lost time and my... need... to start over and do things how I probably should have done them in the first place. I... I just...”

Really, I just can't believe this is even happening. For a brilliant gleam of both hope and promise to have suddenly bloomed out of such... darkness, it... it's almost enough to defy belief.

Only...

I do believe it. Not just because I so desperately want it to be true, but because I do actually believe it. I believe in Ethan and I believe, as it's a powerful catalyst, good can come from bad.

And it is good.

Very good, in fact.

“The reason I was so... blunt... in the way I chose to... uh... come clean, was because I wanted you to know exactly how it was,” Ethan states, turning his hand over under mine and entwining our fingers together. “I was jealous and... pissed... with myself for not having made my feelings known and then, this morning, when I discovered what he'd really done to you, I... I saw red and knowing that I'd initially been jealous it... it actually made me feel sick and I hated myself for having even thought it. That photo was proof of what he'd put you through, and I... I'd been...”

“You weren't to know,” I murmur, cutting him off because, knowing it already, I don't need to hear him say it, “and... It's okay. Everything you've said, it makes sense to me. You're... timing... leaves a fair bit to be desired, but I think we're finally on the same page here.”

“You... do?”

“I do, and...” Pausing, I tighten my fingers around Ethan's and smile “While I may still be having a little difficulty with accepting that... this... could come out of all of... that, it's a page that I'm only too happy to be on.”

“What you're saying, then, is that my confession hasn't offended or even... alarmed... you?” Ethan queries with a grin that, for the first time in days, actually meets his eyes and brightens up his entire face. “That... You're really up for giving... this... a go?”

“I'm really up for giving it a go,” I confirm, giving Ethan a grin of my own as, wanting to get the ball rolling, so to speak, I lean closer and plant a soft kiss on his forehead. “Again, I think your timing pretty much sucks and that, as I don't really want today to be the date of our first anniversary, we need to take things slowly, but... Yes. I want this. I... While I may not ever have been able to come out and say it like were able to, I want you...”

Of course I do. How could I not? It mightn't work out in the long run and we could even be about to embark on making a huge mistake, but, as we'll never know if we never try, it's a risk I'm only too willing to take.

“You don't want this... roller-coaster... of an evening to mark our anniversary date, huh,” Ethan murmurs, slipping down from the coffee-table and settling himself in a kneeling position in front me. “So, I take it then than wining and dining may perhaps be the way to go.”

“Or... movie-ing and hot popcorn-ing,” I reply with an airy shrug as, following his lead, I get out of the armchair and kneel in front of Ethan. “I'm not that fussy, really. Just... a date that hopefully doesn't have as many ups and downs as tonight has had, you know, something that down the track we'll only have fond memories of.”

“So... An old fashioned, first date, yeah?”

“Something like that,” I agree, smiling as, giving in to temptation, I wrap my arms around Ethan and hug him to me. “Just... Having done the confusion and the angst, I think we need to start things off properly with something normal and fun, don't you?”

“Just tell me when and where,” Ethan responds, resting his forehead against mine as he hugs me back, “and I'll be there. Wild horses or the Secretary himself couldn't keep me away. Wherever you want me, Will, I'll be there.”

And he will, too.

He'll be there for me, just as he is now, and, somehow, together, we'll get there.

Having already made it this far, of course we will.

We're both too stubborn to have it any other way.

~ end ~


End file.
